


Still Dreaming

by feferi



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 05:13:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feferi/pseuds/feferi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alpha!Verse Dave Strider and Rose Lalonde begrudgingly plan for Dirk and Roxy's arrival. Based on the fanon that Rose had a vision pertaining to the alpha kid's meteor arrival. This is set before Dave Strider and Rose Lalonde become "celebrities" or highly respected directors/writers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still Dreaming

"I'm preparing anyway, Dave. I'd like to see you stop me," a stubborn voice rang across the empty room. There was much to prepare, in fact. Most of it could require days, if not weeks. The window of Dave's spare bedroom was cracked, splattered with God only knew -- egg, perhaps, from the recent hooligans in his downtown apartment. Regardless, it barely let in the light from the dying sunset.

Sadly, Dave had not pitched his SBAHJ script yet, after numerous revisions and fails. His blog was barely paying the rent, even if he was beginning to get popularity on some silly network called Tumblarb. Rose had no room so she agreed to reluctantly allow the children she foresaw to stay in Dave's run-down 2 bedroom until she could move from her loft in New York to a smaller townhouse in the suburbs. His shitty two bedroom, fit-for-no-one in the Train-Near-Your-Ears section was of no property value to anyone, but it had been home to Dave since he left college.

Regardless, Rose looked at the messy room that formerly served as an art studio, random crumbled papers and paint splatters from the previous tenant -- not Dave, god forbid he clean a room he never used -- varied themselves across the squeaky wood floors.

"Rose, don't be stupid," the 24 year old male spoke bluntly, reaching out to shut the door behind him. The slam of the door was a bit ceremonious, preparing them both for the argument that came ahead, "I'm not going to stop you but I'm going to tell you to not be stupid. Like I just said: so don't be stupid."

There was a silence as Dave stared at her behind his sunglasses, the two having a battle of intimidation that both of them seemed to have immunity for.

This got them nowhere.

"You know we won't be here when they come, so why the hell are you going to put yourself through this shit? I thought you told me 'just because I dress in black doesn't mean I like to hurt myself'? Seems like you're doing just that," Dave huffed, adding on to his statement.

The woman lifted an old crate that smelled of tacos and mint; a deadly combination that made her hold her breath as she tossed it into the oversized trashcan. 

"I don't care, Dave. What if I'm wrong? What if they show up tomorrow and my vision was wrong? I'll be damned if they sleep in a dresser drawer. I want the best for them and since they can't have it then, I'll make it the best for them now," Rose spoke confidently, looking around the room full of cracks, holes, and broken fixtures. 

Dave couldn't help but cross his arms, refusing to get messy when there was truly no reason to, "Live in your little dream world if it keeps making you feel better. It's going to hurt tomorrow when they're not here and there's just an empty bedroom. It'll hurt me too, and you know that."

Rose stopped, her hands sweaty with a clamy feeling. She couldn't help but hang on his statement. Her heart had hung a big deeper in her chest since she had that earth-shattering vision. 

"You're stronger than that. You know this won't hurt you."

"Wow, why are all smart people seriously blind as hell and common sense retarded? Don't you think I wanna see my bro too, big or little? Stop being selfish or I'm literally gonna ollie out," his words were stern and he was easily glaring from behind those reflective darkened lenses that rested on his features, "Just 'cause I'm some badass blogger doesn't mean I don't have feelings."

"I'm sorry," was all that squeaked past Rose's lips, her thin hands balling into fists at her side.

It had been a battle since Rose explained to Dave her precognitive dream about children destined for greatness. Their children, in a sense. It was all but believable, but Dave grew to trust Rose. Ever since the Betty Crocker corporation began to act sinister from behind the scenes, the pieces were being put together like some stupid jigsaw puzzle.

Rose knew it wasn't a dream, it was a forewarning. There had been something missing from her life, something that pages of writing couldn't solve. Since her youth, a budding character always festered itself, begging to be written and given a story. Roxy. But, why? She could never recall why such a creation, one that didn't reflect any interest of hers: drinking, hacking, retro gaming, would continue to plague her. She refused to write the story, somehow understanding a logic without proof: Roxy's story would write itself. So she aged, writing the stories that had no future unless she controlled it. But, Roxy? Roxy would control hers.

But, the control for her own life was slipping. Dave was merely a net, hoping to catch her.

"Rose, come on, here. Let's clear all this shit out, since I should have done it six months ago, and maybe, if there's room, we can set up a crib or something."

Dave reached towards her, pressing a firm grip against her shoulder, "You gotta understand why I'm being a dick right now, ok? I don't know what the hell you saw, but you're always right. You're pretty much a walking fact-checker. It sucks, yeah, but they won't be here. And I don't want you to be inconsolable when you're looking at an empty crib and throwing back the Jack Daniel's like you're a Lohan, not a Lalonde."

"Dave, this is serious, please --" She was cut off, all by Dave lifting a finger up in an attempt to shoosh her.

"You doubt yourselves sometimes, and don't think I didn't forget about the countless times you fucking called me at 3AM re-reading a paragraph asking me of all people to correct any grammatical errors," Dave let a laugh out and pulled his hand away, shifting his gaze to the trash can. 

It was then that he'd begin to pick up the crumbled balls of paper and random assortment of pencils, paintbrushes, and old cans of soda littered on the floor. 

"If you really want to do it, Rose, I won't stop you. I told you years ago, my shitty place is your shitty place. So I guess make yourself at home. Prepare for the little hellions and I'll prepare with you, I guess."

Rose watched him for a moment, feeling a sadness overwhelm her heart. Her mind played a tug of war, guilt and dedication bidding on her focus. A torrent of both emotions swirled inside of her, ready to push her over the edge with her emotions. She just... she just wanted the boy with the brightest orange eyes she ever saw, and the girl with the most adorable smile in her arms. 

"Roxy," Rose stated bluntly, "the female hellion will be named Roxy."

Dave looked up with a cocked upbrow, letting out a laugh.

"Okay, didn't expect that one. Too spunky for your taste. I expected Regina or Roghetica, or some other regal ass name."

"Really, Dave? That last one is just a word you made up. And Regina is anything but regal. You should watch movies more often," she stated with a soft upturn of her lips.

Dave finally dusted of his hands before stuffing them back in his pants pocket. The two shared a glance, as if a silence overwhelmed them.

"What? Don't tell me you haven't thought of a name. I know you have."

"I told you, I wasn't preparing for them," Dave said with a defensive growl.

"Dave."

"I'm serious."

"Dave Strider."

"...Dick, okay?"

"Dick Strider?"

Dave smirks a bit, almost proud of the name, "Yeah, has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

"No, I don't. It sounds like you've been reading too many comics in hopes of him being your sidekick, boy blunder."

"Hey, it has nothing to fuckin' do with that. He needs a strong name, y'know? What's stronger than a dick?"

Rose glared, obviously not amused by that comment.

"What about Dirk? Not as vulgar, but it's a rarity in names."

Dave upturned his lip, as if he was seriously offended, "What the fuck is a Dirk? I don't want my bro to go to school and get teased. 'Hey, look it's Strider. He's over there dirking off'! Yeah, no, Rose."

Rose crossed her arms, letting out a huff, "Well, fine. Since you didn't think of names, keep not thinking them while I go order dinner. Chinese will suffice?"

"Yeah, get me and extra eggroll," Dave blurts out as Rose begins to tread out. They exchange a look, one look before she would shut the door behind her. 

It wasn't until now that Dave noticed how... big the room really was. Grimy as fuck, sure, but maybe it wasn't too bad. His hand ran against the wall, feeling the cracks that sprawled it's way from ceiling to floor.

"If it ain't broke don't fix it," Dave whispered, a bit of southern twang on his accent. It was a habit he tried best to suppress, but sometimes, it just slipped out. 

"Dick Strider. Dirk Strider..." Dave hummed to himself, sounding the names out fast and slowly, as if trying to get a feel for 'em. It was something that the sunglasses-clad future director changed his tone for.

"Dirk... Dirk... Whatever, we'll see when the time comes, bud."

The oncoming train made Dave's apartment shake, snapping him back from his name-pondering session. As the rattles and clanks of his tiny 2 bedroom filled his ears, the flash of light from the train nearby caught his attention.

He found clarity.

Maybe Dirk wasn't so bad. And maybe Dave took a liking to it, much to his displeasure. He didn't want to become attached, but somehow, the name was calling him. As if it was fated in some weird way. Dave pulled his hand from the wall, eyeing the train as it passed by.

"Fuck this, that bullshit train will wake 'em up if they stay here... they can chill in my room," Dave spoke to himself, becoming just as hopeful as the blonde writer who was ordering their dinner. 

Even if they weren't of Derse, they both still dreamed.


End file.
